


Reanimated

by Cryophase



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryophase/pseuds/Cryophase
Summary: A retelling that keeps the lore presented in Revenant's chapter of Pathfinder's Quest intact but gives a different interpretation of his story. Heavy lorebook spoilers inside, you should probably read it first, it's pretty neat. Revenant's chapter is gruesomely violent and gross so please be warned.
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

It had been many years since Bob had really ruminated on the nature of the Syndicate’s work. They came to work dressed professionally, all suits and button-downs, to an office that looked like any other. He passed them in the hallways, and rarely gave them a second look. He knew which ones they were, the higher-ups. They always had that look in their eye, of a certain confidence and authority.

They ran everything around here, from agriculture and water, to city-planning and law and order. Everything came from the Syndicate; the roof over Bob’s head, the meat on his plate, the entertainment on his television. Everything. Even his job, mundane as it was in the area of water filtration, was connected to the Mercenary Syndicate, named for what they were most well-known.

Even his own upbringing was connected to them. He, like many others, was raised here on Solace as a part of the Syndicate’s integration initiative. Bob, along with his twin brother, had left his parents young, back in the Frontier, with the hope that sending their sons as pioneers to the Outlands would promise them a better life than they had.

In a way, they weren’t wrong. Bob enjoyed many things a citizen of the Frontier or even the Core Systems might only dream of. He had a stable job, a well-fed and housed family. He enjoyed a high standard of living, and he was not ignorant to the role the Syndicate had in his good fortune. He only had to pay the price in loyalty to them, which he happily gave. After all, he had been raised with it.

Growing up in the care of the Syndicate was no easy life. Bob might have likened it to an unnervingly harsh military school. He was trained in discipline, in combat and firearms, and most of all in loyalty. When he and his brethren reached the age of sixteen, however, ultimately that training was only necessary for a select few. Those deemed fit for the next step of the journey were whisked away. His brother was one of them.

Why Kaleb was chosen and he was overlooked eluded him. Perhaps a result of a better psych evaluation? They both endured them at regular intervals, though even that seemed a strange reason. 

Bob recalled a time when they were boys, and his brother had brought home a small creature. Cat-like in appearance, but quite small, and unmistakably alien in nature. Bob remembered being fascinated with it, wondering its name and nature. His brother only seemed interested in one thing-the noises it could make. Bob remembered him taking one of its tiny limbs in his hand and twisting it as hard as he could, grinning with boyish delight at the screams it elicited.

“Stop it!” He reached for it, trying to pry it away from his brother, but Kaleb swiftly moved it out of reach. Bob remembered hearing it scream again that night, and finding its small body in the trash the next morning.

Truthfully, Bob had always been scared of his brother. It was likely a good thing Kaleb seemed to do his best to stay out of contact since they last saw each other as teens. In fact Bob was almost certain he went as far as changing his name, since even finding a record of Kaleb Woods was impossible. Those chosen to be part of the Syndicate’s elite circle were said to enjoy a life of luxury, so Bob liked to imagine the best had happened for his brother, despite his questionable character.

Bob was fine with that. He was happy with where he had been placed, and he bore no jealousy. Sanitation was important work, as much as it might have been something taken for granted by the average person. But Bob often found himself wondering what his life might be if he had been deemed suitable for the more dangerous and secretive line of work his brother was called to.

The business of mercenaries wasn’t inherently cruel, to most people. Some people deserved to be on the receiving end of such services. Here in the Outlands, where police were scant and lawlessness prevailed, it was often a comfort that  _ someone _ had an authority of judgement. Unless you were just flamboyantly unlucky, you’d never have to think much about being on the Syndicate’s bad side.

Sadly, a day would come when Bob was just that unlucky.


	2. Chapter 2

The day started like any other. Bob came into work focused on addressing the issue of shortage in algicide. He was to coordinate the transport of a large shipment into the city, and from there, get it to the treatment plants which needed it. It was urgent, so he had come in on a weekend day, when most of the rest of the office was gone.

He turned on his desk light as he sat down in his cubicle. The office was dark, save for his little space. No sense in lighting up the whole place just for little old Bob.

He turned on his computer and started pulling up necessary things; shipment schedules, bookmarked emails. Bob would expect a day like this to be quiet, with little to distract him, and yet he heard a noise. It sounded like a grunt, perhaps someone stubbed their toe?

“Hello?” Bob said. But there was no answer. The grunts continued, and as he listened he swore he could hear it punctuated by talking. He nervously adjusted his glasses and smoothed his disheveled blond hair, and rose from his chair. It was all so muffled, and regrettably, he became curious.

He got up and started walking toward the source of the noise. It was coming from this floor’s balcony, four stories up.

As he neared it, he could just make out one of the voices. “Mr. Evans?” He asked meekly. That was his boss, surely he wouldn’t mind him taking this bit of overtime once he explained why.

He stepped toward the balcony, treading very lightly now. He wasn’t sure why, but some part of him was screaming that it was a bad thing to make himself obvious.

His instincts would turn out to be right. As he peered through the curtain he could see Mr. Evans, along with a troupe of other Syndicate men, surrounding a mostly naked and severely bloody body.

“Aww, come on now Perkins, don’t tell me you passed out?” His boss’ voice said with an uncharacteristic rancor. “We still ain’t done…”

“Sir I don’t think he’s passed out, I think he may be-“

“Shhh. He’s faking, for sure,” Evans assured his underling, kneeling down. “Come on now, quit fooling around and I may give you your pants back!”

But the man on the floor didn’t respond. Bob realized his chest wasn’t moving at all.

The cheeky grin disappeared from his boss’ face as he realized the same. “Shit.”

“It’s not a big deal. You know how long transit to the Frontier can take? It’ll buy us a few years, at least. Just say he hopped on a transport, fake the travel records…”

Evans slapped his companion across the face. “You fuckin’ idiot! You kicked him too hard. Do you have any idea what his dad is going to do to us if he finds out?!”

“Well, he won’t. I’m not worried,” a third voice said.

Bob was silent as he listened to their plans. His hands were shaking. He was in shock, and it took him a moment to process what exactly he had just witnessed, and another moment to realize what it meant for him.

He needed to get out-NOW! He panicked and turned to run for the stairwell. In his haste he knocked a single box of paper clips off one of the desks, and nearly screamed as he heard the balcony door come swinging open.

He slid into the stairwell and ran. Run, run, RUN! Nothing else mattered. He went out the basement and into the parking garage and practically fell into his car.

As he drove away, comforted by the traffic that soon surrounded him, his face went white as he realized what he had forgotten.

Only one computer was on in the office, brandished with his name and illuminated by his lonely lamp. He hadn’t escaped at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graphic content in this one, consider skipping if that's not your thing

It was always so easy to ignore the horrible things the Syndicate did under wraps, and Bob was privy to many merely from rumors. ‘It isn’t me that’s being hurt,’ he would say, and he assumed most people would too. That was just the way of life in the Outlands- to look the other way.

Well, now Bob was the one destined to be hurt. They knew who he was, and they knew what he saw. He knew what was coming next, and as he barreled home all he could think about was telling someone,  _ anyone _ . He didn’t know what to do.

He knew who they would send. The Syndicate’s best hitman was known for his cruelty. He wasn’t just efficient, he was ruthless; known for the creative and gleeful torture he inflicted on his victims before they died.

So when Bob realized he was on the Syndicate’s bad side, he was rightfully terrified. He, Meredith, Riley and Sam needed to get out of here immediately. They needed to leave, and he told his wife as much.

“Nonsense,” the woman he loved with all his heart told him. “The Syndicate is a reasonable organization. There’s no way what those men did would be approved of by the higher ups.”

“You don’t understand. You don’t know who they will send for me, how he-“

“Robert, honey, I need you to breathe.”

Bob realized how much he was scaring her, how sweaty his palms were. Riley was downstairs now, watching them.

“Is everything okay?” She asked.

He cleared his throat, ready to lie. “Everything is fine girlie,” he said in his typical lackadaisical way. “Mom and I were just talking about adult stuff. It’s reaaally boring, so you should go back to bed.”

Riley nodded. Bob fixed her a glass of water, soothed her nerves with the help of his wife, and sent her back upstairs. It was all so peaceful, and for a moment he thought maybe Meredith was right, maybe everything  _ would _ be okay.

“You know who to go to, just schedule a meeting and trust me, okay?”

“Okay,” Bob relented. Hearing a second perspective was calming, and he felt reassured with her promise. He resolved to heed her advice, and made a few calls.

He had his meeting the next day- with a man above Mr. Evans by a good few levels. Meredith knew him personally, and Bob nearly cried with relief as he finished his story, and Mr. Anthony Blisk promised him he would have nothing to worry about. He ran things at the Syndicate here, and he would make sure Mr. Evans and all those involved in the incident he witnessed were brought to justice.

It all happened within the same day. The arrests made the news, and Bob wondered how things would change at work. Perhaps he should gun for a promotion, to claim the vacancy Mr. Evans had left. His mind flowed with possibilities, and he couldn’t stop smiling all the way home. He couldn’t wait to tell Meredith everything.

Bob’s smile disappeared as he opened the door to his home, and found Meredith’s face on the floor.

A familiar shaking took hold of his limbs. He dropped the briefcase he was carrying and stood before the doorway, unmoving.

“No,” he stuttered. He knelt down, tears welling in his eyes. He reached to touch her, but quickly withdrew. He felt bile in his throat and turned away from her as he let it spill.

He walked into his house on shaky legs to be greeted by the entire first floor covered in blood, as though someone had deliberately tried to paint the walls with it.

“What are you, crying? You really hate my interior decorating  _ that _ much?” A familiar voice wafted from the dining room, so similar to his.

Bob turned the corner and felt the vomit in his throat rise once again as he saw his own face staring back at him, grinning as it hummed a tune. He had placed pieces of Meredith in each of the chairs surrounding the table, meticulously so that each had an equal volume.

“Honeeeeeey, I’m hoooooome,” Kaleb said in a sing-song voice. It was strange for Bob to see his twin’s face after almost three decades apart. He looked far younger than he did, but Kaleb was always so immune to stress, and he had always been too vain for spectacles.

“I was surprised it was you. It made this whole thing a lot more fun, believe me,” Kaleb mused. He polished a butcherknife with a cloth, dyed red with blood. "Always did wonder what you got up to all these years," he said, pointing the knife to the various dining room chairs.

“Why?” It was all Bob could say. “Why?” He repeated, his voice cracking. He fell to his knees, burying his head in his hands. He tried not to look at the gruesome scene around him.

“You know why, silly,” Kaleb put his feet on the table, still brandishing the knife. “And you know who’s next, too.”

Bob suddenly snapped out of his shock. He was talking about his kids.

“No, no, please,” he blubbered. “Please, they’re all I have left. I’ll do anything. I promise please just tell me-”   
  
"Oh brother, you’ve already done enough, don’t you think? Just look at poor- uh, what’s her name? Your big mouth  _ really _ tore her apart.”

He was laughing now. Truthfully, the reveal of his brother’s whereabouts all these years was fitting for him. 

“She was so fussy when I was painting, really no help at all,” he rambled on and on, detailing what he had done in Bob’s absence. Bob was only half listening, he was thinking of his kids. He needed to escape. The kids were still at band practice, he needed to get them and go. Go where? Did it matter?  _ Anywhere _ but here.

So he left Kaleb to his rambling, which continued even after he bolted out the door. He barely seemed to notice Bob had left at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no easy way to write around the horribleness of what Kaleb Cross does and what he endures in the lorebook canon. Tried to treat this with tact but again, consider skipping if graphic stuff doesn’t suit you.

Out of all the planets in the Outlands, Gaea was known for being the least lawless. It was the most removed from the Syndicate, though they were far from powerless there. Bob knew as much when he booked an emergency transport for three, and made arrangements with the Gaean police force to stay in a publicly undisclosed location.

They would be safe there, he found himself saying. The sentiment was so familiar to the one his wife had given him not a day ago, and so he felt a familiar doubt.

He found himself with a few days to sit with what had happened. He still hadn’t told his children, and he didn’t plan on it. He told them this was an emergency business trip, and that mom was staying home. But they were both too old to be so easily fooled. Still, there was nothing they could do but nag him for answers, which he brushed off and lied to every time they came up.

Eventually, they arrived on Gaea, their blessed safe haven. Bob tried to let himself feel relieved, for Sam and Riley’s sake. He never even noticed the man in the hood and sunglasses disembarking with them, and tailing them in his own, subtle, professional way. Nor did he notice when he slipped into the safehouse, late at night, and injected him with something that allowed him to sleep soundly through what came next. Bob would wake up, gun under his pillow unused, and no longer be a father.

Kaleb had been more creative with this one, and by the time Bob realized what he was looking at that morning, he was numb. It did not shock him like it had before, and he could feel something inside him breaking as he made a call to the police, his voice monotone and blank. He found his brother in the kitchen, humming a tune and preparing bacon. 

“Just make it fast,” Bob said, his eyes welling with tears.

“Hmm?” Kaleb remarked, barely looking up from his cooking. 

“When you kill me, just make it fast.”

“Shucks, what kind of brother would I be if I killed you?”

“What?”

“Oh no, Bobby boy, you’re going to live,” Kaleb smiled. “You’re going to live with the knowledge that all of this happened because you opened your mouth. I just hope that next time you’re more careful. Oh, which reminds me, we really do need to catch up sometime. Know a good coffee place around here? I know you’re new in town and all, but some places are just  _ that good _ that word travels fast, y’know?”

Bob wasn’t listening anymore. His fear was gone, replaced with something stronger. 

His brother continued to hum nonchalantly as the police arrived. His expression barely changed, and he showed no resistance at all as he was handcuffed and taken away.

Was that his characteristic insanity, or something deeper? Being arrested barely seemed to phase him. Bob knew it was from confidence. Though the Syndicate allowed a certain amount of independent jurisdiction here, their presence was known. Bob had learned very quickly how corrupt everything was. The Outlands truly were rotten to the core, and when the charges were dropped and Kaleb was released, he knew exactly where to find him. He had purchased the information, as was typical for this heinous world, throwing away what was left of his savings. He knew he would not need it anymore.

Another thing he had purchased that day- the same drug which Kaleb had used on him the night he killed his children, identified from a blood test and purchased easily on a street corner. Gaea was just as rotten as every other world, Bob had learned too late.

Bob didn’t bother hiding a smile as he watched Kaleb pour himself a drink and down the drug. It took a little while to kick in, being ingested and all, but when it did he was helpless. Bob took great pleasure in beating his brother’s face in as he lay there unconscious. It was a bit unnerving too, seeing what looked like his own face so severely disfigured. But it wasn’t his, Bob reminded himself, he didn’t have that horrid haircut.

For the first time in a while, Bob chuckled. He tied Kaleb up tightly with the ropes he had brought and stuffed him into a suitcase. Nobody asked any questions as he rolled the human-sized luggage into an elevator, down through the lobby, and hurled it into the back of the same van he had once used to take his kids to soccer practice. He procured his gun from the glove compartment and readied himself for what came next.

\----

Bob had access to the water treatment plant after hours, just like he had on Solace. And they looked much the same as they did there. He was no stranger, and easily navigated to where he wanted to be. He let his brother’s body topple out of the trunk and onto the cold metal catwalk, and he waited.

It was hours before Kaleb stirred, and as soon as he did that infuriating face crinkled into a disgusted scowl. That made Bob smile, for he had never seen his brother so uncomfortable before.

“Ughf, what is that  _ smell _ ,” Kaleb complained.

There were no more tears in Bob’s eyes as he pointed the gun at Kaleb and said, “I just need to know why. Why did you do this? H-how could you do this? To your own family.”

Kaleb chortled. “Please,” he wasn’t begging, but making fun of Bob’s ridiculous sentiment. “It’s my job,” he said matter-of-factly.

Bob scowled. He put the gun against his brother’s head and turned off the safety. He pressed it into the center of his forehead and said nothing, but nor did he shoot.

After an uncomfortable silence, Kaleb started laughing.

“Hahahaha, you’re kidding. After allll that huh? Still can’t do it can you? Your wife woulda, kids too, you know. Unlike you, they had…. GUTS!” 

More maniacal laughter. He just couldn’t help himself. Bob withdrew the gun. He decided he didn’t need it- because Kaleb deserved something far, far worse.

The laughter stopped as he grabbed the monster by his stupid fucking hair and dragged him across the catwalk.

“Know what this is?” was the last thing Kaleb heard before his head went underwater, and drowned in the unmentionable. 

\-----------

There was silence now. Beautiful, beautiful silence, punctuated only by the dripping of water and the sound of residual bubbles coming up from the vat in which his dead brother’s head was floating. For the first time in a long while, Bob felt at peace. He was ready for what came next. 

He fished a phone out of Kaleb’s pocket and made a call.

“Kaleb is dead, come find me at the water treatment plant.”

Bob was done, and he found himself smiling. It was finally, blessedly over. He had nothing valuable, no information, no money. He had nothing to lose and nothing to gain, so when the Syndicate guards at last showed up, Bob greeted them with open arms. He kept that pose as he heard the lyrical sound of gunfire fill the air, and then, more silence.


	5. Chapter 5

He didn’t remember what happened after he was shot. A long, long silence, and then-

“Well, to put it mildly, it’s bacterial infections in the brain, from what he aspirated. Caused a bit of swelling and putrefaction, there’s quite a bit of damage you see. But, the other, he was only shot. The damage is minimal. I took the liberty of preserving him in the solution as well since he was a former candidate for-”

“A FAILED candidate. I don’t  _ want _ Woods, I  _ want _ Cross.”

“And I’m telling  _ you _ , Cross is unusable. The man was unhinged anyway, a profile of enjoying torture to an unhealthy degree, hardly a good starting point for something we are planning to turn into, well, into-”

“This will be controlled. It will be contained.”

“Precisely, we are in control. Which is why I am saying the base grey matter we go with matters little. We give it a directive, it will follow. The discipline is there… for Woods as well, and the ability to kill. And they are twins, the base is very similar. Perhaps not the experience, but maybe if we splice a bit from the undamaged bits of Cross, it would fill the gaps.”

“We can do that?”

“Oh of course. It will take a bit of legwork, but in the end, most of the skill will come from the construct anyway. It’s not as if a human being would have ever known how to work all the features of the mechanical body we’re putting it in. The construct will do them quite naturally.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Splendid, I will get to work then, with your blessing.”

No more words were exchanged. The voices faded, and soon, so did the memory of them, so too did the memories of two gruesome deaths.

\------------

A stiff, bladed hand cut easily through human flesh. Humans like him could do that, he knew, it was perfectly normal. That man was the last one, another mission fulfilled. He could go home now, and rest. 

He was a patchwork brain in a freak of a body, but his mind was unphased by it. There was an ever-present sense of ease. The confliction of memory? Normal. That quieter, nagging conscience that found issue with a target? Easily quashed. The unnatural things his body could do? Well, that was normal too. Everything was normal, and every day the same routine, perhaps ending violently-and then forgotten.

Until the day a piece of glass lodged itself just right in his neck.


End file.
